


The Beginning II

by RoseElizabethWelles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Breakfast, Crowley has chronic pain, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Puns & Word Play, Shakespeare Quotations, Waking Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseElizabethWelles/pseuds/RoseElizabethWelles
Summary: Crowley And Aziraphale wake up, in more ways than one.





	1. Love’s Labours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley And Aziraphale wake up to new beginnings

Crawly, or rather, Crowley, blunders out of a dream of food and comfort and something else he can’t quite identify, into cold, hunger, and every muscle in his body constricted in pain around a rather soft, dense pillow. To his surprise the pillow has arms, which it uses to pull a duvet cover over Crowley’s bare shoulders.

He won’t... can’t -bring himself to open his eyes, but he knows that scent. Only one being in the universe smelled like that: the dust and spices of old books multiplied by millennia, and the warm, dare he say heavenly scent of fresh baked bread, with a hint of milk and honey.

Aziraphale.

If his body could have tensed any further it would have, but instead, his lips formed the words “oh, what the hell” and inhaled deeply. His face and hands buried in the angels hair, he let the scent envelop him until his muscles simply gave up and relaxed. He could feel them start to tremble, not with fear, but exhaustion. He was so bloody tired. Tired of lying, hiding, tired of fear, tired of his genius going unappreciated. Dear old Aziraphale had never underestimated him, and with a shock, he finally recognized something he hadn’t felt since his saunter vaguely downward from grace: Love.  He was in love with Aziraphale, always had been. And right now, suddenly, he could feel the love, for him, Crowley, absolutely radiating off of Aziraphale.  Before he could help himself, he did something he’d never done before, with friend or many, many lovers: he  _ snuggled.  _ Aziraphale ‘s sweet, pudgy face pressed to his chest, Crowley tried to calm his heart. But it pounded away in a typically rebellious manner.

His attention was drawn suddenly to a light fluttering against his chest, just above the gentle warmth of Aziraphale ‘s light breathing. It tickled. He couldn’t figure out what it was until he remembered the angels ridiculously long eyelashes. Aziraphale was awake, and blinking rapidly as he always did when either startled, flattered, or both. He tried to stop himself, but Crowley began to giggle, which was something that he simply did not do. Giggling was simply not  _ him.  _ He impossibly, preposterously shook with silent silliness but then a sound escaped, causing Aziraphale ‘s eyelashes and no doubt eyebrows to raise. There was no help for it. A full fledged laugh erupted, followed by a groan of pain through clenched teeth. 

Aziraphale stopped pretending to be asleep, murmuring: “Are you quite alright, my dear?”

Crowley chuckled, but carefully this time.

“Yes, Angel, quite!” And placed a hand over his mouth to stifle another giggle. 

“Good Heavens! Are you…  _ giggling?!” _

“Don’t you tell a bloody soul!”

“But…  _ why,  _ my goo- uh, my fellow?”

“Because I don’t effing giggle! It is decidedly un-demonic!”

“Well, yes, I mean, no, that is, why in the universe are you giggling?”

“Because, to paraphrase your beloved Shakespeare: We’re both picked-purses in love and we deserved to be hanged!”

Aziraphale’s eyes flew characteristically wide, and an annoyingly endearing sheepish grin accompanied a deep blush.

But it was Crowley’s turn to feel sheepish when Aziraphale’s face registered a look of absolute mischievousness, possibly even wickedness.

“He who is well hung in this world need fear no colors…”

Crowley audibly gulped, And Aziraphale fell into an equal fit of giggling.

Ther hilarity was suddenly interrupted by a large carnivorous growl from Crowley’s stomach, and he realized he hadn’t been able to keep anything down for two days. He’d never actually needed any kind of sustenance before, but, it seemed, that too was changing.

“Has anyone ever told you that you smell like fresh baked bread?” He asked as non-chalantly as he could.

“No…” replied Aziraphale, with a twinge of sadness.

“Has anyone ever told you that you smell of Crepes with cinnamon and cream cheese?” This was followed by an equally loud growl from Aziraphale ‘s stomach. 

“No…. they haven’t.”

“Well it’s high time they did! And now, I believe a good spot of breakfast is called for.”

That wasn’t exactly what Crowley had in mind after all these millennia, but he followed Aziraphale into the kitchen anyway.


	2. Much Ado About Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale and Crowley discuss holy water, ink, and the virtues of cooking without divine intervention.

When they reached the kitchen, Crowley cringed in pain as he manipulated his stiff and aching body into a chair, and then squinted upwards in surprise as Aziraphale started opening cupboards,gathering various foodstuffs and what he recognized as cooking utensils.  
“Er… Aziraphale…”  
“Mmm?”  
“Exactly what the bloody heaven are you doing?”  
Aziraphale started in surprise and confusion.  
“Oh! With - with the cooking, you mean?”  
Crowley suddenly realized he should’ve been more clear, and wondered how much awkwardness this most recent turn of events would cause.  
“Yes,” he gulped, “the cooking.”  
“Oh, well, you see, after the fiasco during eh… the, you know, the crepe incident in Paris…”  
“Y’mean when you nearly got your head lopped off cause ye fancied a snack?”  
“Er, well, yes. Anyway, I thought it might be useful, my dear chap, to learn a bit of cooking myself. In case….”  
A frown creased Aziraphale’s face, and he stared intently into the eggs he’d been beating, looking, but not seeing.  
“In case?” Crowley prompted.  
Aziraphale went back to what he was doing.  
“Well, in case I… needed to keep a low profile, for…” (and here he snuck a side glance at Crowley) “for whatever reason.”  
A lightbulb went off in Crowley’s head.  
“Angel,” he groaned softly into his chest, “have you known for that long?”  
Not missing a beat, Aziraphale replied: “Well, let’s just say I sort of got…”  
“Alarm bells?”  
“Let’s call it an inkling, shall we? He nodded at the ceiling tall bookshelf that resided in the kitchen, full of antique (and well used, over the centuries) cookbooks.  
“As you can see, I do rather like ink.”  
A soft, slightly sad smile spread from angel to demon like an infectious yawn.  
“So…” Crowley’s insatiable curiosity (after all, that’s sort of what he was known for) got the better of him.  
“When exactly did you realize I was irresistible, and you were madly in love with me?”  
Aziraphale didn’t blink.  
“When you handed me my books in the rubble of that cathedral where I cocked things up so badly, during the blitz.”  
A look of sheer glee crossed Crowley’s face.  
“Are you serious? The books?” He inhaled his laughter, causing a slight wheezing sound.  
“Well, yes. Especially after I saw the state of your poor feet, stepping on church grounds like that.”  
Crowley winced at the memory. As a demon, he was used to fire; well, nice, normal, pleasantly warm hellfire, but holy burns were another matter.  
The angel had fortunately helped him home to his flat, after he’d taken a few steps out of the rubble and collapsed from the pain. Crowley vaguely remembered Aziraphale carefully removing his shoes and socks, much of his skin sloughing off with them, before he passed out. After that the angel had stayed for a good few days, tending to Crowley’s feet and bringing him soup (which he didn’t really need, but it was appreciated, nonetheless).  
And, come to think of it, that’s when they’d started hanging out, just for the company. For a little while, anyway.  
Aziraphale interrupted his reverie. “So, my dear chap, tit for tat, as they say. When did you first realize that you were madly in love with me?”  
Crowley went silent.  
“…Crowley? I haven’t embarrassed you, my dear, have I?”  
“No it’s not that, it’s just…”  
Aziraphale looked at him expectantly.  
“It was when you gave me the holy water.”  
“Ah. listen, I’m sorry I hesitated about that, I should’ve trusted you.”  
“Are you kidding? Knowing that someone cared…” he inhaled a little too deeply and coughed for a moment. “Knowing that someone cared enough to actually respect my decision, in spite of the consequences… you thought you might lose me, but instead of being selfish about it and insisting I go through literal hell, just so you could keep me, like a miserable pet in a cage, no matter the state of my mind… the fact that anyone would hold me in that much respect…”  
They were both silent for a moment, the angel tactfully looking away and tending to his crepes.  
“… it meant a lot, Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not encouraging suicide in any way, especially for the disabled or those in chronic pain. What I wish to show here is how much it means to us for others to respect our decisions, and recognize that our bodies, our lives, are ours to live, not someone else’s.


End file.
